PS 3525 
.P128 
R5 
1908 
Copy 1 





Class J£S_1F 2.5 , 
Book__^Ai^lJ5.i_ 



Gopigtrtl^" 



190% 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



Rivulets of Song 



BY 



PERCIVAL D. McCALLUM 




BROADWAY PUBLISHING CO. 
835 BROADWAY, ^ ^ NEW YORK 












[uBftARY of OON^fiff^i A I 2» ^ 

jUN 8 lyua n 



Copyright. 1908, 

BY 

PERCIVAL D. McCALLUM 



All rights reserved. 



TO 

MY MOTHER 



CONTENTS. 

PAGE 

Among the Flowers 24 

An Evening Thought 39 

Breakers, The 34 

Beauty Must Fade 40 

Bitter and Sweet 36 

Broken Vase, The 54 

Confession 31 

Curate Talks, The 43 

Dawn 10 

Ecstacy 53 

Evening 23 

Exile, The 52 

Faint Displeasure 32 

Forest Fire, A 16 

Friendship 14 

Gleam, Gleam, O Sun 49 

Grieving for Day 32 

Heart- Vigil z'^ 

Her Wedding Day 30 

His Mother's Love 26 

In Adversity 48 

In Memory 47 

In the Grove 30 

I Still Have Cheer 51 

Kentucky 7 

King and the Rose, The 13 

Lake, The 19 

Lament, A 46 



ii Contents 

PAGE 

Leaf, The 55 

Lover's Thoughts at Dawn, A 37 

Love's Unwisdom 33 

Love the Fields 55 

Millstream, The 22 

Missing the Mark 50 

Mist, The 2 

Morning and Evening 41 

Morning Hymn, A 22 

Mountain Boy's Song, The 56 

My Desire i 

Old Garden, The 24 

On the River n 

O World 5 

Pain and Power 3 

Passing Eve, The 12 

Picture, A 33 

Re-Orient Love 34 

Repentant • 42 

Resolution, A i5 

Silver Bars 3^ 

Silver Boat, The. 43 

Sleeping Infant, A i 

Storm, A 8 

Storm-God's Leer, The il 

Stream, A 42 

Summer Dream, A 38 

Sunlight 35 

Sunset 21 

Ten O'clock 50 

Thanksgiving i? 

Thy Voice 37 

To a Friend 48 

To a Rose 29 



Contents Hi 

PAGE 

To Dixie 28 

Tramp's Rest, A 20 

Two Pearls 39 

Unrest 31 

Victims 12 

Virtue 40 

Vision and the Shell, The 41 

Winter Evening, A 26 



MY DESIRE 

To gather up some scattered threads of thought, 
Aimless in the wide world, and weave a cloth 
Of gold or silver texture, which no moth 

Of time may eat or ages bring to nought: 

To set full deep the gems life to me brought — 
Precious experience in toil or sloth. 
Tenderness, passion, sorrow, righteous wrath — • 

In one chaste crown, of grace that art hath 
taught. 

So may my feeble hand find skill and plan ; — 
It were enough if memory's gathered fruit, 
Pierced by a sentient dart, might be a gain, 

One jot more to the heritage of man — 
If I may soothe but once with magic lute 
His pulse of passion and his throb of pain. 



A SLEEPING INFANT 

The fairy car of sleep hath come; the baby's 

eyes. 
Those guileless stars of promise, close and 

seems 
The tiny soul soothed in an angel land ; it lies 
A smiling seraph, such as grace our dreams ! 
That pretty, rosebud mouth not yet hath learned 
To utter silver speech, whereby the lore 



2 Rivulets of Song 

Of worlds is made immortal; nor discerned 
Those eyes the wreathing beauties we adore — 
That garland earth. That frail life hath won 
No comradeships of mind with mind at rest 
In mutual understanding; there is none 
Can still its peevish cry save she whose breast 
Succors the frail form. This life is now 
The little rivulet among soft moss 
Of its beginning. It shall swell and grow 
To the mad-rushing torrent, ruthless toss 
Through rocky gorges to a moaning sea, 
That never ceases to repeat the woe 
Unhappy streams tell of their history. 
Or through a fertile plain the increasing flow 
May seek its course and bless until the smiles 
Of man and his broad fields alike attest 
The gratefulness of bounty and the wiles 
Of opulence, that give our hands to rest. 



THE MIST 

From peak to peak the silver cloud 
Loiters and looms ; and roaring loud 

The cataracts play 

In tumultuous way 
And wear beneath the hard rock face, 
And age-long toilings leave their trace 

Among the woods that dream. 

Still by the tossing stream. 

At morn the veil of mist is gone, 
And sun is poured by laughing dawn 
O'er forest and rill, 



Rivulets of Song 

O'er the rugged hill, 
And dews alone in sorrow weep 
That beauty to oblivion's keep 
Passed, and forever fled 
Is with the lovely dead. 

Are you a wreath of mist to me, 
Awhile to linger then to flee, 

Retreating from sight 

In the stronger light? 
Nay! Let life ever broader shine. 
Mind, heart enlarging — still be mine 

Abiding like the stream, 

Your sparkling soul agleam. 



PAIN AND POWER 



*Twas falling night ; he walked the street. 
And wept to see a mongrel eat 

The loathsome scrap he craved: 
His half -clothed limbs were cold; the stones 
Had cut his feet, and bitter moans 
He stifled scarce, and braved 
The storm of wind that howled and scurrying 

bore 
The lowering clouds from the tempestuous shore. 

He saw a great house on the hill ; 1 

The blinds were drawn ; but hoping still 

For bread and cheer within. 
He climbed the path and sought the door. 



4 Rivulets of Song 

And knocked, while the fierce tempesf s roar 
Made louder dm. 
An old man flung the polished panel wide, 
Revealing the bright warmth and light inside. 

He made his plea ; the old man scowled, 
Muttered a curse and snarling growled: — 

''Beggars enough had he:" 

And though a girlish form he spied 

Come tripping to the old man's side 

And question pityingly, 

The door was shut, and hungry, full of pain, 

He turned away 'mid sheets of blinding rain. 

II 

At golden noon he rode in pride; 
The village throng was at his side — 
His white plume nodding free: 
"This is the hero," all men said, 
''Who hath our arms to victory led ; 
Receive him gallantly! 
He comes to wed the sweet rose of our vale, 
The fairest flower of spring in all the dale!" 

His spurs were bright ; his charger light, 
Resilient steps took up the white, 

Broad pathway lined with bloom. 
An old man met him at the door — 
"Pardon," he said, "that once before 
I would not give you room." 
The hero said : "Locks as yon cloud so white 
Are yours, Sire ; reck no past ; my heart is right." 



Rivulets of Song 

"My daughter in the rose-bower waits," 
The old man said. "This stir she hates : 

She is a modest lass." 
Thither the youth the greensward trod; 
The poppies smile, the dahlias nod 
To see him gaily pass. 
Blue sky, fair day ; but bluer eyes he found, 
And fairer form his arms in love clasp round. 



O WORLD 

Since thou didst tremble from the mist 

Of chaos unto cosmic law 

How many a hoary age has kissed 

Thy brow farewell? Since thou didst draw 

Thy golden round from nothing's well 

By crux of alchemy sublime 

How often in the silence fell 

Aeonian beats of rhythmic Time? 

O world, thy brow is old. 

Rapt in the cycle of thy flight, 
Far field of an ethereal race. 
Thou, ocean, land, and day, and night 
Still in the plunge bearest on thy face. 
But steady through revolving years. 
Not as it seems, thy course is run; 
Companion of harmonious spheres, 
Thy task is set, thy task is done. 
O world, thy field is wide. 

Thy cloudy peaks in grandeur leap 
To the full stream of silver light; 



Rivulets of Song 

Thy rivers thread the hills that steep 
Their garments green and glimmer bright 
With shower ambrosial, brake and bloom, 
And fragrant mead ; and limpid song 
And streaming odor, gorgeous gloom 
And crimson splendor float along. 
O world, thou art so fair. 

O world, I see a miracle 

In every quick when thrilling spring 

Is budding, blooming, and the full 

High-tide is rippling breeze and wing; 

And I am singing with the song 

Of crescent fall and murmuring tree, 

Moved, like the million-natured throng, 

To utter youthful fantasy. 

world, thy heart is young. 

Thy days are many, mine are brief, 
Too brief to ask why thou art made. 

1 catch my breath and summer's sheaf 
No riper meets the glittering blade. 
While some are old in endless quest. 
The "why" and "wherefore" fain to give. 
The voices of thy mighty breast 

Speak, only whispering, "Thou must live!" 
O world, I ask not why. 

My arm is puny, thine so great ; 
Thy moulding power hath marvels made 
In sleeping form, or animate, 
Evolving from thy prescient shade 
Monster and pigmy, sense and soul, 
Since thy divine nativity: 



Rivulets of Song 

But one great force that shapes the Whole 
Made both, holds both in sympathy. 
O world, I love thee well. 

O waft me with thee till I sleep, 
World, in a hollow of thy hills. 
Calm in the shade where roses keep 
Their fragrant bloom, and sing the rills, 
And skies are bright with sunny bars — 
Except the thrilling trumpet shake 
Celestial music to the stars, 
And, trembling, thou dost me awake — * 
O world, I shall sleep sound. 



KENTUCKY 

To her clothed in deep woods and pastures fair 

Man came and broke the glebe ; and speedily 

Arose earth's loveliest homes; she banished care 

Mid opulence ; gave hospitality 

Her regal seat. She poured into the ear 

From glade and gloom sweet song, and flowers 

bore 
To please until her craft should grow and rear 
Wealth's more voluptuous fabric, pleasing more. 
Rich her champaigns ; but not alone her pride. 
For, since her blood is pure, her female grace 
Unrivalled, her sons hate of smirch and grime 
Swift as her peerless steeds ; since side by side 
Her sons take counsel with the great, her place 
And fame still crescent, still she waits her prime. 



Rivulets of Song 

A STORM 

Hist! the wind is wilder moaning, 
And the shaggy woods are groaning. 
Groaning while the air is heavy 
With the threat of coming storm; 
Wraiths a-wailing throng a bevy ; 
Sun beclouded, day is shrouded; 
And appalling blackness falling 
Bathes in ink each earthward form. 

Helter skelter into shelter, 
Women, children, herds are flocking, 
For each larger bolt is shocking 
Trembling earth to deeper strain 
Till the skyward pile is rocking ; 
And the earth is interceding 
For her unthought wrong is pleading 
And the sky frowns fierce disdain. 

Lucifer his lurid fountains 
Opens on the beetling mountains. 
Splits with bolts their face of iron. 
Nets the heavens with forked flame. 
Louder echoing up the valley 
Spurs the challenge, shouts the rally 
Of the sky with earth contending, 
Pouring forth abuse and blame. 

Gilded dome and turret reeling 

To the diapason pealing 

Of the growing clamor flowing 

Over city, over wild — 

Gust and whirl and crash and eddy— 



Rivulets of Song 

Till the brain distraught, unsteady 
Shrinks, recoiling from the demon. 
Demon, yet creation's child. 

Rain is pouring, torrents roaring ; 
Through unheard-of channels forging 
Rivers deep their maws ingorging. 
Sweep the slopes of all their kind: 
Forest oak and garden flower. 
Beast and burden, scythe and mower, 
Wren and pheasant, house and peasant 
Mingle in the tumult blind. 

Wonders built in nature's fashion 
And the work of mortal passion 
Seaward hurling in the swirling 
Are like fragile paper curled ; 
And the raging and confusion 
Waken mart from the delusion 
That such hate in dire effusion 
Would no more afflict the world. 

Ocean billows shoreward rolling, 
Tossing, foaming, past controlling 
Shout to churning winds a-shrieking, 
Torn by jagged rocks to pain; 
Waters the bold ships are filling — 
Oh! how weak is human willing 
When the spiteful heaven is spilling 
Wrath upon the rocky main. 

Still the sky in madness howling. 
Fighting, hissing, snarling, growling, 
Hellish raving, fierce behaving. 



lo Rivulets of Song 

Striking earthward clang on clang, 
Grows in choler, mightier swelling, 
Till it seems beyond all quelling, 
Till the punished earth is yelling, 
Writhing in her bitterest pang. 

Then the sky's grim satisfaction 
Won at last by earth's distraction, 
Dire and awful, clouds are rifted, 
And the sun looks on the main ; 
Far the frowning clouds are drifted, 
And upon the heels of riot 
Follows heavenly peace and quiet, 
Brooding o'er the earth again. 



DAWN 

The first grey trembles up the eastern sky ; 
In dusk the doubtful outlines of the hills 
Appear ; and, spectral hosts that turn and fly 
Affrighted, through the trees and o'er the rills 
The shadows sweep; the kine un fearing lie 
Couched in deep sward ; a dawn-begotten breath 
Sucks up the still-shed perfume, wafts it by, 
Rocking but scarce the elms, and faints to death. 
Bright grows the east; then crimson showers 

fast 
Of roses fall, preparing the sun's path; 
The tall oaks kiss him welcome from the brows 
Of highest knolls as up he springs at last 
With that same smile, whose golden virtue hath 
Blest for these years his nature-plighted vows. 



Rivulets of Song ii 

ON THE RIVER 

A moon and starlight ; a light skiff, and eyes 

Love-lit to beam on me; soft, gentle stirs 

Of night's hushed winds; a plaintive sound, the 

bleat 
Of wakeful ewes; a distant watchdog's bark; 
A drifting dreamily adown the stream 
Through summer hills and forms of shadowy 

trees ; 
The beauty of the night; a woman's face 
In night's sweet mystery, love-glorified: 
And all is silent save my beating heart. 

THE STORM-GOD'S LEER 

O blistering sun, contented let your eye 
Be sightless for awhile! His sounding lyre 
The storm-god sweeps and with his hands of 

fire 
Awakes a tumult in the sundered sky. 
Sand-clouds and clouds of mist dark-bosomed 

fly 
Before the shrieking wind, whose raging dire 
Thrashes the earth with rain till mud and mire 
Choke in the desert's throat its thirsting cry. 
'Tis rage ill-spent where never mortal pang, 
Or thirst of beast, bird, plant, or seed is slaked, 
O storm-god wild! But dost thou leer and 

throw 
One more hot brand, strike one more mighty 

clang — 



12 Rivulets of Song 

And dost thou say, "Thus oft have mortals 

waked 
Dire rage for nought"? — And I must say, "Yes, 

so." 



THE PASSING EVE 

I hear a far-off bell, a drowsy clang 

That tells the kme half-sleep in pastures green; 

The cricket chirps beneath a moss-grown root ; 

The still bird's twitter, and the lone owl's croak 

Is softened ev'n to gentle echoes. Noise 

Of day has ebbed, a far-retreating tide. 

And left the landscape to soft sounds and me — 

To watch the moonlight's fairy silver rim 

Night-wandering clouds, till deepest peace has 

filled 
The world of field and forest, rocks and hills, 
Of man and beast, and slumber locks the might 
Of erstwhile active forces of tense day. 
Such, O my soul, shall not thy passing be? 
After the conflict, calm and dim-lit eve 
Of low, sweet peace, and then, a restful sleep. 



VICTIMS 

The quarry screams, for cruel talons pierce 

Sharp as a needle its soft flesh; the beak 

Of the destroyer tears its vitals ; fierce 

Keen maw, content with blood alone; his eyes 

bespeak 
Callous indifference; bead-like they shine 



Rivulets of Song 13 

In the bright sun ; to strike, and life to draw 
From the weak partridge is a feast divine: 
This is the ravin hawk; he knows no law. 

The poor man cries ; his lacerated breast 
Crushed 'neath an iron heel ; his blood is drained 
By leeches which the hand of wrongful quest 
Draws from the pool of license ; if so pained 
He struggles, the imprisoning giant's hold 
Is tighter gripped, and with a hoarse guffaw 
He beats his victim's head with sacks of gold. 
And this is Greed, who knows, but heeds not law. 



THE KING AND THE ROSE 

A monarch saw a golden rose 
Stand in a vase of silver ring: 
"How far more fair thy glory blows 
Than mine," he said, "though much a king; 
But here we are alike — my crown, thy gold 
Both perish soon with all of earthly mould." 

"How care-free is thy happy smile ; 
God make me pure and bright as thou : 
O, that we kings knew less of guile 
And more in honor's shrine would bow !" 
And the meek rose shed forth its perfume rare. 
Like an attendant incense to his prayer. 

The king, the rose long years have gone : 
But still abideth sympathy; 
And thence we see spring many a dawn 
Of soul-infused nobility. 



14 Rivulets of Song 

For nought inspires as does its tender name, 
A gentle oil poured on the spirit's flame. 



FRIENDSHIP 

I saw a youth deep-browed, deep-souled and 
calm, 

Who smote a river with strong, vigorous 
strokes 

And sped far onward toward a mighty sea. 

His eyes bespoke a purpose fixed and bold. 

And bright his boat leapt gold on rippling silver. 

He passed an isle girt round with pleasant 
groves. 

Which bare ripe, wholesome fruits. There dart- 
ing fountains, 

Drenched, fragrance-laden zephyrs and great 
palms 

With fronded solace cooled the fiercest sun; 

And sheltering crags out-braved the wildest 
storm. 

Out from the woods there piped a clear, sweet 

call. 
Bell-like and bird-like, pleasant as a dream; 
And looki'^g, I beheld a lovely form, 
Noble, maic.-.tic, of a mien most kind, 
Inviting him to stay. 

The youth passed by 
With earnest gaze fixed on a distant star. 
Somewhere above the sea, half -hid in mist, 
That wound a sinuous wreath about the beams 



Rivulets of Song 15 

And then unwound, in curious power to charm 
ReveaHng and obscuring the bright light. 

"Stay," cried the voice, "and I will teach and 

guide. 
You cannot reach the glorious light alone." 
Enrapt the heedless voyager passed on. 
A strange, deep sadness welled up in my heart 
And rose with the sad moaning of the sea. 

I watched the youth, and, peering down his 

wake 
Most eagerly, I saw a trail of mist 
Enshroud his manly form. Full suddenly 
I heard a shriek, and lo! the clouds uplifted 
One moment, and the wreck of the bold craft 
Sank by a rock, while I beheld the youth 
Fight strongly in the waves, then sink and 

drown. 

Then said the voice in low, deep tones of pain, 

"Alas, for those who scorn my happy isle 

And its deep peace. Thus noblest souls will 

drown. 
But, resting here, a wisdom and a strength 
Are gained to face the reefs and mighty sea. 
That without fail the voyager speeds on." 

A RESOLUTION 

Let us who know the priceless worth of life 
So live that when white lilies on our tomb 
Garland but memory of earthly life, 



i6 Rivulets of Song 

Men will weep forth the jewelled rain of sorrow 
That we are gone, and only comfort take 
That they can say in truth we lived as men. 
And when all souls converge to that last goal 
As argosies to their own ports return 
From their long wandering in far-off seas, 
Be it our lot to cast down at the feet 
Of our great merchant-prince the fragrant bales 
Of spices, and all precious gems and ores, 
As grateful riches of a well-spent Ufe, 



A FOREST FIRE 

Around me only desert. Near me lie 
The faithful shepherd dogs. Close in the fold 
Lie all the weary sheep as once they lay 
On far Judea's plains. No angel now 
Comes with a startling message and the glow 
Of sudden, supernatural light. But far 
The eastward clouds are hanging sheets of red 
Where the vast fire feeds on primeval woods. 
And, though itself unseen, lights up the sky 
And turns the night's deep dark to billowy crim- 
son, 
Far rolling an inverted molten sea. 
Here all is still ; no hiss of flames or rush 
Of eddying torrents, ashes, flame and smoke, 
Nor groan of forest-monarch falling, nor 
The cry of hapless bird or beast o'ertaken. 
Breathless the silence ; not a single voice 
To cheer me; no one near of humankind. 



Rivulets of Song VJ 

THANKSGIVING 

This day is fair that puts a summer bloom 
Where soon a crown of pure white snow will 

rest 
Upon the brows of sobered earth. It gladdens 
The inmost spirit with a bath of sun 
Fresh, warm, delightful, though the branches 

bare 
Save for the scant dead leaves that still cling 

fast, 
Erstwhile bright green, now deepest brown, de- 
clare 
The season late. I see the morning frost 
Vanish into the air and seem to add 
Beauty to heaven's sapphire. As the hours 
Broaden and shine with more effulgent light 
Riders and various vehicles appear 
And round the hills which skirt the valley pour 
To the still country shrine. Through narrow 

roads 
From humble homes perched on the mountain 

slopes. 
From nooks and corners of the vales they come; 
Aged, with silver hair ; the laughing faces 
Of youthful, vigorous, country maids and men 
Careful each for the other ; mothers, babes 
Borne on their tender arms ; and men with brows 
That bend to a paternal, duteous load. 
When in the quiet church, their voices hushed 
After much cheery greeting, they await 
The morning's worship. Soon their voices 

blend 
In lofty hymns and sweet incense of prayer 



i8 Rivulets of Song 

Wafts to the throne upon the earnest plea 
Of the young minister, whose gifted voice 
Falls on the ear in liquid cadences 
Partly of native worth and part of peace 
And harmony of soul. Then words of cheer 
And comfort follow. Reverent worship o'er, 
A joyful stream bursts from the staid, old 

church 
And gay hearts open founts of mirth and jests 
Are passed around ; warm invitations given 
Are favored or refused. The first to go, 
A pair of lovers, mount their horses, bent 
On being quite alone. And one by one 
With much leave-taking and regret all turn 
Their homeward way and in the trees and hills 
Soon pass from sight. 
Yet gladness does not cease. 
Fragrance arises from the mould and field and 

flood, 
The sky and hills unite in one glad song 
Of true thanksgiving. Even the leafless trees 
Are glad that rigorous winter comes not yet 
To freeze their sap and chill them to the core. 
High on a precipice of rock there stands 
A solitary cedar, dressed in green. 
The light breeze stirs it and it seems to sing 
This simple song : "Creator, God, to thee 
Thanks, thanks for sunshine, rain, wind, frost 

and snow — 
Good gifts to please and hardship yielding 

strength. 
Thanks for the glorious seasons, but, o'er all 
For this perennial greenness which I bear, 
That, though not fairest, yet becomes to man 



Rivulets of Song 19 

A symbol of the soul's Immortal flame. 
Thanks, thanks to thee, again, agam I sing 
For life, for joy; 'tis my delight to join 
This praise to human voices and to swell 
The heaven-aspiring peans of the day/' 

THE LAKE 

Above, the mountain's rim soft-showered in light 
Of mystery poured earthwards by the moon, 
Hanging bestreaked with floating vapor grey, 
That floods with streaming silver where the beam 
Of night comes glimmering through. Below, 

the shore 
Dipped gently in the lake, that pulses slow 
To a night-roamer's languid-moving beat 
Of noiseless oar. Lo, the boat gliding past ! 
A fairy form whose rhythmic movement flows 
To the red light aglow on yonder cape 
Thrust in the peaceful water. Dim-lit trees 
Of phantom shape around the cottage stand 
And gossip to night's breeze : "Her lover comes ! 
He slackens pace, for fear he comes too soon 
On the appointed hour." Now at a knock 
The door flies open, and the happy sound 
Of rippling laughter upward borne to me 
Fills me with ecstacy, for I am glad 
That to its heart the silvery tone rings true. 
Now he sits down enrapt of maiden eyes 
And bound by subtle glances, while to sky 
Of mellow splendor and to sleeping earth 
I turn and dream my dream's imagining 
To fufl content, heart-satisfied to be 
In love with nature and a scene like this. 



20 Rivulets of Song 

A TRAMP'S REST 

Fair evening has kissed farewell and flown : 
Her golden hair streams far. In the still air 
Twilight descends. Home come the lowing kine, 
And drowsily they ford the clear, smooth stream : 
Pausing awhile they lave their knees and drink. 
Then down the green bank to the patient herd 
The milkman goes ; he pipes his mellow call. 
And blinking beasts respond. A butterfly 
Flits wearied past, bright flowers and scenes 

forgot. 
The pool beneath the willow-tree is passed ; 
Then in the trim-kept garden hovering 
Few moments, 'neath the cottage, by the wall, 
It seeks a twig of fragrant heliotrope, 
And goes to rest. The last long, golden shafts 
Of sunset strike its brilliant, folding wings. 
And sleep swims o'er it in a deep, sweet bath 
Of rich perfume. 

Thus I, a tramp would rest. 
When night, black-browed, ascends the yielding 

east: 
Thick leaves my bower; the moon my glowing 

lamp ; 
My breath of fragrance mixed with falling dew; 
The stars my watchers, and night's balmy air 
Weaving soft slumber's spell of happy dreams; 
Protected, soothed, refreshed, I would recline 
In full content, the envy of all kings. 



Rivulets of Song 21 

SUNSET 

The evening breeze is blowing cool 
Beneath the stirring maple trees ; 
It fans my brow and smites the pool ; 
It seems to whisper fantasies 
Of peaceful hours imagining, 
Of many a gay and pleasant thing. 

The flitting bird is homeward bound. 
And chirps a plaintive vesper hymn ; 
His song seems of a sweeter sound, 
And richer glory rests on him 
Than on the chief of surpliced choir. 
Who sings the strains of mortal fire. 

This bower of leaves is grander roof 

Than ever towered castle bore ; 

This green, deep grass supplies me proof 

No richer carpet hides the floor 

In palaces of rich and great. 

Where pomp holds her most splendid state. 

This brook that wanders offers clear 

A sparkling drink more sweet than wine 

Matured in vats a hundred year, 

And by a monarch called divine. 

And in the apple-orchard nigh 

A bounty unsurpassed I spy. 

The homeward-going harvester 
Is singing merrily a song 
Of love; the harvest great, no care 
Rests on him ; proud he walks along. 



212 Rivulets of Song 

And like a king in arms of gold. 
The sunset rays his form enfold. 

I know that thus I do not dream, 

Nor is my fancy wanton free, 

Sweet evening breath, for sunset's beam 

Has glorified reality: 

And there is nothing else more real 

Than these poetic joys I feel. 



THE MILLSTREAM 

The mill-stream drones and murmurs all day long 
And in the night swells loud. It leaps the shelf 
Of broken rocks, and tumbles in cascades 
Past the old-fashioned mill, a tireless stream! 
How like this busy onward-rushing life, 
Which doth compel us ever to some goal — 
We know not where. For we are bound to move 
In those same channels which by time and fate 
Are made our own, oft wondering what law 
Draws irresistibly, what purposes 
Are thus fulfilled ; yet well content to run 
Life's course, if thus the mills of God go round. 



A MORNING HYMN 

The pulsing world is now awake, 
And motion sweeps it like a tide ; 
The light is quivering o'er the lake, 
And day comes on with giant stride. 
The feathered songsters dash the dew 






Rivulets of Song 23 

From yielding twigs and chirp their songs ; 

The barn-yard sounds with great ado ; 

The hungry dog asserts his wrongs. 

Fieldward the farmer drives his team, 

Where green the growing corn-rows stand: 

The kine are going in a stream 

To rich, deep-swarded meadow-land. 

The brook is calling, calling me 

To also shake off sloth and rise, 

Joining, whate'er my task may be. 

The progress of the earth and skies — 

O, Power of the Life that thrills 

Mighty through all the universe, 

A draught of thy inspiring rills 

In bounty unto me disperse! 



EVENING 

The spell of evening is peace ; 
Its oft-returning earth hath blest. 
The sun is dead and labors cease ; 
Idle the plough, the boat at rest. 

The zephyrs breathe not ; fall the dews ; 
The starlets glow; the daisies sleep; 
And odors in the air diffuse 
And all the sense in richness steep. 

Day-piping birds no longer sing 
Their carols in the leafy glade; 
For all the world with folded wings 
Is nestling in night's lap of shade. 



24 Rivulets of Song 

Then Heart, O Heart, I turn to thee; 
Thou hast a sweeter, fuller calm ; 
For love is deepest peace to me. 
Love that is mine, love that is balm. 



AMONG THE FLOWERS 

I wandered when the summer air 

Was also idling in the trees; 
The eyes of nature everywhere. 

The flowers, were nodding in the breeze. 
The light notes of the thrush's song. 
Like my thoughts, were a merry throng. 

Among the green and gold arose 
A slender form, a maiden fair, 

Far sweeter than the crimson rose 
She wore amid her soft, brown hair. 

And, like the magpie's swelling song. 

New thoughts awoke and surged along. 



THE OLD GARDEN 

The dear old garden soothed me 
In those sweet, anxious, courting days : 
To see the leaves hang flutteringly 
And careless stilled my deepest care; 
The sun shot his inspiring rays 
All round and through me till I felt 
The longest wooing I could bear — 
At last your heart would melt I 



Rivulets of Song 25 

The peach, the pear, the nectarine 
Hung temptingly and fair, 
But I, who loved a fairer queen, 
No fragrant smell or taste they bore, 
Ripe in the happy summer air, 
Could relish, but there followed pain, 
A deep, sweet longing more and more 
To see your face again. 

The melancholy yew-tree stood 
A little further from the hall; 
It matched my spirit, but a flood 
Of sun would sometimes smite my face 
When over me its shade would crawl 
As I lay on the soft, green grass 
And thought a likeness I could trace 
To hours I yet must pass 

Dark, but half-light; and rising thence 
I passed to the still-sleeping pond. 
And watched beside the garden fence 
The merry dace frisk in and out. 
And the great, sulky pike, as fond 
Of mocking them, hang halfway down; 
And glad was I my world about 
Though sad was roomier ground. 

And all in all those restful scenes 
Sent more of quiet to my breast; 
And now my memory often gleans 
A cheering aftermath of thought. 
Cheering because at last you blest 
My heart with love; and all the harm 
My spirit suffered now is wrought 
To an enduring charm ! 



26 Rivulets of Song 

HIS MOTHER'S LOVE 

He roamed and learned and nobler grew ; 
In power wisdom held his hand ; 
And every joyous pleasure drew 
Its best wine forth at his command. 

The world of splendor glowed and flamed, 
Nor spared her golden luxury 
Before his ravished eyes that claimed 
Communion with her subtlety. 

His life was fair as tropic bloom 
That glows between the sea and palm : 
Yet ever some great want, some gloom 
Troubled his breast and sought for balm. 

Then, lo ! he turned and saw the rose 
Climb o'er his boyhood's cot once more 
In eve's still hour, when gentler flows 
The dove's soft music round its door. 

His mother's tears were on his cheek ; 
Her silver locks upon it fell ; 
And through the love she could not speak 
Peace in his heart first wove her spell. 



A WINTER EVENING 

The shades are pierced by one lone beam 
Aglimmer from yon deep-browed hill ; 
Above grey bars the heaven fill, 
And watery moonbeams faintly gleam. 



Rivulets of Song 27 

The whining winter winds assail, 
The door and window rattling loud ; 
And night is prone to lay a shroud 
Of white on Hfeless hill and dale. 

Weird chill, your cold hand on my heart 
Would drive me to unhappy thought, 
Awaking recollection fraught 
With sorrow, failure— life's sad part. 

But I will light a fire within, 
The flame of pure and holy love; 
And memory, ministering dove, 
A gentle reign of peace begm. 

She wafts me over ocean's wave 
And coral isle and palmy grove 
To that dear land, where joyous strove 
My youthful breast with spirit brave. 

Her golden skies I see ; the breeze 
Is tremulous in the leafy vine ; 
And far-off lowings of the kine 
Come mellow over flowery leas. 

I hear the lusty, ringing stroke 
Of woodmen in the forest fall ; 
I hear the shepherd's whistle call 
Back to the flock the sheep that broke 

And frightened ran ; the hungry plough 
Bites in the virgin soil ; the team 
Is stalwart from the rising beam 
To falling light; and many a bough 



28 Rivulets of Song 

Is shedding perfume, and fair blooms 
All colors shine; and blithe the bird 
Is by its inborn spirit stirred 
To chaunt afield or in the glooms. 

Beneath the splendors of the sky, 
Red dawn, white noon, and crimson eve, 
With all the radiant hues that weave 
In heaven's tented roof on high, 

One spot of all most sacred lies; 
It is my home, my far, loved home ; 
And dear, however I may roam. 
The hearts which love that never dies 

Turn oft to me when winter's wind 
Is howling wild. O memory. 
Though night be cold, such joys in me 
Glow, till my heart is warm and kind ; 

Glow, while of that dear love I dream. 
Which pierces through the world to me ; 
Glow, while my hopes arise to be 
More honor to them than I seem. 



TO DIXIE 

Sweet Kentucky rose, unfolding 
Near the foot of life's fair hill. 
Brightly in the sunshine glowing, 
Sparkling like a sun-kissed rill. 
To the gazing eye thou sayest, 
"Beauty is unfettered still." 



Rivulets of Song 129 

If thou think'st for aye a-blooming 
Here to dwell in freedom's pride, 
May my hand the shade encroaching 
Have the right to brush aside. 
But thou art a flower too lovely 
Never to be made a bride ; 

And if ever thou dost yielding 
Grace the garden of some heart, 
Happy were that garden's owner 
There to shield thee with best art. 
While thy face and spoken music 
Sweetest thrillings through him start. 



TO A ROSE 

O crimson, fragrant rose, the sweetest thought 
You bring me; fresh as youth, of youth you stir 
Remembrance ; bold as manhood, I am taught 
The pride of its possession. Thorns that were 
As sharp as yours have stung; and soft dew- 
tears 
Have filled my sorrow-cup for me ; and green 
Hope also, as your folding leaf, these years 
Matured my budding purpose. — But your sheen 
Is gone to-morrow ! Therefore time of death 
And beauty's grave cloud up my thoughts. But, 

no! 
They must not yet. Your lovely hue, sweet 

breath 
And smile teach me to chase dour grief away. 
And seeking that loved rose, your rival, go 
With her to cull the best from life's glad day. 



30 Rivulets of Song 

HER WEDDING DAY 

This is her happy wedding day, 
And she a bride must hie away. 
O blessings on her heart of snow, 
White as these feathery flakes below ! 

Ring, bells, across the world of white; 

Ring, for a joyous bride ; 
Ring, for a groom with future bright; 

Ring once for we who bide 
Bereft of a sweet friend — the less 
May we regret our loneliness ! 

O ring ! and ever ringing so 

May life be one sweet chime — 
Clasp once their hands and let them go — 

This is the parting time ! 
Strew them with flowers, and give them cheer ; 
Check that heart-sigh, and shed no tear. 

O wish them well, O wish them well ! 

Heart unto heart in tune, 
May love forever, ever spell 

The merry moods of June; 
And sunshine sparkle on their days, 
And gladness sing unbroken lays. 



IN THE GROVE 

No breath of air stirred in the listening grove; 
The doves forgot to coo ; and hushed and low 
The pert grasshopper calmed his shrilling chirp 



Rivulets of Song 31 

The leaves ne'er rustled ; by the reedy pool 

The bold frog ceased to croak, nor snapped the 

fly 
Upon the crystal surface ; and the flow 
Of mellow glory filled the evening sky 
And sank beneath the earth in waters clear. 
And lo ! To one more fair than all besides 
A lover stood and told his earliest love ! 



UNREST 

The day has crushed his goblet of red wine 

From earth's ripe grapes and laid himself to rest 

In dim Hesperian shadows, while the night, 

In sable mantle sprent with silver jewels, 

Hastens to flood the world in lotus sleep. 

Fair, festive dreams succeed the scenes of light 

For balm-wrapped souls. I, in the tardy hours. 

In wakeful solitude, tempt weariness 

To waste the vital, mounting strength in me 

To dissipation. Long the wistful stars 

Shine on my pillow, but I heed them not. 

For legions of most sweet and troubled thoughts 

Turn me from rest, and only turn to thee ! 



CONFESSION 

The glow, and the glance, and the glamour, 
That lurk in your beautiful eyes, 

Have taken my heart in its boasting — » 
And vainly their magic it flies! 

So now I am kneeling and praying—* 



32 Rivulets of Song 

Your bondsman — Oh, call me your own ! 
For the joy of my life will be ever 
,To love you and serve you alone I 



FAINT DISPLEASURE 

As darkling down the willow-brink 
A zephyr puffs the ripples by, 
So have I seen a shadow twink 
Sometime across your liquid eye. 

As quick as thought that thought was gone ; 
And it seemed beauty human- fair 
That your good humor scarcely shone 
With an unbroken tenor there. 



GRIEVING FOR DAY 

The cerements of dying day are drawn 

In crimson and ethereal splendors close 

To end the mystic story of the day. 

The moon her solemn taper slowly burns ; 

The soft dew in the hush of sorrow weeps 

The grief of forest and of hills, that stand 

As silent mourners in their garments drab, 

And watch the bier of night bear off their dead. 

Nor will they rouse until, in lighter mood, 

The birds and breezes greet new-breaking morn. 

And wean them from their morbid heaviness. 

So a new morn of love will cheering rise 

To lure the gnawing sorrow from your heart. 



Rivulets of Song 33 

LOVE'S UNWISDOM 

Only beauty softly shining 
In her face and in her eyes, 
How can love, the purer, stronger. 
In your doting heart arise? 

Wed her not ! Her bloom must wither ; 
Gray will streak her raven hair: 
Curb your blind, untutored passion; 
Wisely turn it otherwhere. 

There's superior, rarer beauty. 
Light of soul and virtue's grace; 
'Twill illumine any feature. 
Make a chaste and lovely face. 

There's a maiden, modest, comely, 
Comely in her spirit's power. 
Loves you dearly : turn and woo her ; 
'Twere your fortune's golden hour ! 

Then when youth in age dissolveth, 
And your blood is dried and cold, 
Still to love all unabating 
Will your heart serenely hold. 

A PICTURE 

A sweet, demure, rose-colored face; 
A youthful heart, yet cold, so cold; 
A hly throat in ruffled lace; 
A hand 'neath chin of peerless mould; 



34 Rivulets of Song 

She rests her soft, brown eyes on a love-letter's 
folds. 

What will she do? Refuse? We know. 

Heartless, one more she will o'erthrow. 
For not a spark of love her pearly bosom holds. 



THE BREAKERS 

Boom, boom. 

Sing the breakers of the sea; 

Gloom, saddest gloom 

Oppresses me. 

For O ! the ocean took my love from me. 

Blow, blow him homeward, fair wind, cheerily! 

Room, room, 

Have I left for none but him; 
Bloom, sweetly bloom 
Heart-flowers for him. 

That keep forever green ; and love's-lamp trim 
Shines ever o'er the wave, its fond light never 
dim. 



RE-ORIENT LOVE 

Dead — love was dead — or seemed so; heavy 

hours 
From Hesper unto Phosphor gloomed her heart 
In deeper shade than night ; and brightest art 
Of day from Phosphor unto Hesper flowers 
Of pleasure offered vainly; such the powers 
The icy chill of winter did impart. 



Rivulets of Song 35 

It came because his eyes withheld the dart 

Of flame that warmed Hke sun from sky-blue 

towers. 
But, lo ! the wintry solstice must be turned. 
His glance stole back and melting to the core 
The freezing heart its green hopes waved above ; 
Its fountains burst their bonds and, leaping, 

yearned 
To sparkle in his smile ; song woke once more — 
New heavens, new earth, born of re-orient love! 



SUNLIGHT 

I love to sit where sunlight shines 
White in the field or in the room 
Where windows broad the pleasant lines 
I read make bright ; for every gloom 

Where this broad-gleaming flood goes far and 
near 

Is scattered on the earth or heavenly sphere. 

It thrills me through ; new impulse deep 
I drink into my blood with fair 
Receiving from such vastness; leap 
My thoughts unto the page that there 
Is brighter ; and with vast minds, even with Grod 
Communing, double glory smites this sod. 

There's nothing base to him who tunes 
His soul's great harp in harmony 
With vaster things ; on low sand dunes 
One may take stand who thus will key 
Himself to music of the universe 
And hear its deepest strains his soul traverse. 



36 Rivulets of Song 

BITTER AND SWEET 

He loved her in his golden youth ; 
His silver age is calm; 
His grief was deep, 
But fell asleep, 
And now his soul is balm. 
For, lo ! he conquered, striving to forget 
The bitterness, the sweet remembering yet. 

SILVER BARS 

Grey bars unhappy, doleful, filled the sky. 

Then up the moon rose, iridescent white. 

And silver shone the bars. 

Thus was my mourning heart grey, doomed to lie 

'Neath mists of sorrow till your face so bright 

Smiled and all grief that mars 

Was glorified ; and still the flooding beams 

Of tender joy, that o'er my spirit gleams, 

Make life outshine the stars ! 



HEART-VIGIL 

The river flows sleepily, dreamily down. 
And singeth a lullaby to the old town : 

The eyes of the dwellings are shut every one 
And my love lies a-dreaming; the long day is, 
done. 

But the wings of my heart will not fold into 
sleep ; 



Rivulets of Song 37 

They fly to her window a vigil to keep : 
How sweet is the vision ; how gently arise 

Her bosom's soft heavings — all lovely she lies! 

In the moonlight how tenderly love grows apace ! 
But I dare not in thought ev'n her bosom em- 
brace ; 
For no vow is yet spoken, and thought can en- 
dure 
To ravish no love-kiss — her soul is so pure! 



A LOVER'S THOUGHT AT DAWN 

You bring to me, O rosy dawn. 
The haloed vision of a face. 
That, joy-encircled, holds in pawn 
My all — so peerless is its grace. 

And be it great, or none, or small 
The love that she returns for mine, 
I cannot help but be a thrall 
And in a dungeon deep repine. 

Her sweetest "yes" would set me free 
And bring me to the sun again ; 
Her "nay" would only banish me 
To a dark cell of deeper pain. 

THY VOICE 

When all the strife of worldly ways 
A roaring tumult round me plays. 



38 Rivulets of Song 

Amid the clamor and the brawl, 
Thy tender accents gently fall. 
Sweet is thy voice to me ! 

Through all the noise of stirring days — 
Through all the din of springtime lays, 
The mocking-bird's melodious song, 
The robin's, thrush's — all their throng — 
Sweet is thy voice to me ! 

When happy, starry night appears 
And all the music of the spheres 
Around me rolls, I look above; 
And mingling with their songs of love. 
Sweet is thy voice to me ! 

Oh ! let me ever, ever take 
Thy hand in mine and travel make 
With thee life's murmuring brook along; 
Thy voice will glorify its song: 
Sweet is thy voice to me! 



A SUMMER DREAM 

A summer dream passed over me again. 

In quaint, old-fashioned boyhood's days 

I was a mower. Lustily I swung 

The swift, fell scythe. Birds sang to me; the 

hum 
Of homing bees rose on the soft-blown air, 
That wandered wanton 'neath the blue-flecked 

skies. 



Rivulets of Song 39 

The warmth and sunshine and the dark-green 

trees, 
The music and the bounding health of youth, 
Full in my veins, filled me with mirth and song, 
And I burst forth and sang — my burden all 
The good and beautiful, but mostly thee! 



AN EVENING THOUGHT 

I would that in this mellow hour of eve 
The oldtime faith in fairies might be true, 
And wishes for which oftentimes we grieve, 
Might prosper over night by what they do. 
Then would the rosy dawn in beauty rise 
Upon your heart, no more inclined to rove ; 
But, speaking unto me with truthful eyes, 
Employ the language of immortal love! 



TWO PEARLS 

As the pearl-diver from the fleet 
Dived deep in a most lucky sea. 

So, in a vast humanity, 

I plunged and found you, gem most sweet I 

His pearl and he were forced to part; 

And now for me you wear its sheen: 
He lost — I doubly win, O queen. 

For both gems lie upon my heart 1 



40 Rivulets of Song 

BEAUTY MUST FADE 

This queenly rosebud cleft its hood, 
And far out-blushed the dawn's red light; 
Its petals drank the cup of good 
The dews distilled in starry night. 

A ruder breath its modesty 
Virgin, unripe, and youthful, shook; 
And mantled with maturity 
It gave the sun a braver look. 

But scarce arrived at beauty's height 
It straightway darkened to decline ; 
And sickly age o'ercame it quite 
Ere yet the stars again could shine. 

Now its head bows — a broken stalk; 
Its petals fall in twilight shade. 
Alas ! 'tis thus by life's broad walk 
Too soon must every beauty fade. 



VIRTUE 
Lily white to breathe no more 
Sweetest perfume, freely shed; 
In this gay vase, drooping sore, 
Sapless, all thy bloom is dead. 

Virtue thus her head will droop. 
Maiden of the tender eyes, 
If she ever yielding stoop 
From her stainless, radiant skies. 



Rivulets of Song 41 

THE VISION AND THE SHELL 

Brown hair that flows her neck and shoulder 

round 
In lovelorn witchery; one small hand clasped 
Upon her bosom where his head once lay — 
But once — the night he said farewell and turned 
To roam the restless deep. Her lips, unpressed 
By love's caress since then, set plaintively 
To inward thought, and mate with eyes that 

dream, 
Asleep to all things near ; for the seashell. 
Held tightly to her ear, is wakening 
The deep, full sound of foaming, moaning wa- 
ters. 
Borne with their murmur, visions come of isles 
And mainlands far away, girt with a void 
Of heaving water, that from palm to pine 
The open highway lies. And a white sail 
Flits on at break of dawn or falling eve. 
By midnight moon or darkness, calm or storm 
Brooding above ; and the firm hand that guides 
Gave her that last caress. She thinks of him, 
The ocean's danger, charm and mystery ; 
And unvoiced prayer to the great God of Seas 
Ever her love uplifts for his return. 



MORNING AND EVENING 

Morn and a well-trimmed bark bounds free ! 

A soul is facing life's uncertain sea. 

Whence dost thou come? and whither go, 
O buoyant traveler of the seas? 



42 Rivulets of Song 

Why speed so fast? — all winds but blow 
Between unknown eternities? 

Evening: a bulk all shattered, cordage rent: 
A soul has sorrowed life's full complement! 
What did it profit reckless winds since dawn 
Vexed thee, till naught was left but these? 
Whence hast thou come ? and whither gone, 
O luckless traveler on Hfe's seas? 



REPENTANT 

A lonely garret and a lonelier man : 

Fierce, sunken eyes, drawn face and fingers 

clutched 
In pain: dishevelled hair, and mouth that 

twitched 
With strong, deep feeHng, or, in turn, was firm. 
Marks there of sin, great sin, that scar ! that look ! 
That cowering head reveals the soul is torn 
As are the loathsome rags upon his back. 
A tempest raging, from the mists of years 
Lo ! dark clouds gather, and his tears like rain, 
Shower down; and bitter moanings wrack his 

frame. 
Repentant now, from shameless wreck of life, 
Wasted, forlorn, he turns, in sorrow bowed, 
At wakening of memories of home ! 



A STREAM 
A million scenes are mirrored on my breast; 



Rivulets of Song 43 

I pass by them with limpid, hurried feet, 

Going, forever going to the sea, 

Flowing the straightened course of destmy 

To that great goal, where many wanderers 

meet — 
That I may win its free, wild, glad unrest! 

THE SILVER BOAT 

Oh ! the moon is a beautiful, silver boat, 
And sails on an ether sea ; 
And the stars that toss up the silver spray 
The rocks of that ocean must be! 

How grand it would be, with the moonbeam oars, 
In that boat, if you and I, 
Like fairies, could weather the ether gales, 
And travel the glittering sky! 

THE CURATE TALKS 

Only last winter, yes, the last, her rites 
Of burial I said. This tomb invites 
Your praises ; 'tis a grand pile, no pretence. 
It mates the pride, splendor, munificence 
(When it was pleasant) of her haughty lord. 
You see the angel's glance is heavenward ; 
Yet more I think she would have loved a spot 
Near the old church, wild thyme, forget-me-not, 
And roses o'er her. 

Well, she left her home 
A simple lily, and in strangeness clomb 



44 Rivulets of Song 

The mistress' silken seat in the great hall. 
Look how its turrets stand antique and tall ! — 
Loved her? — She was most beautiful : her eyes, 
Her lips, her skin, her grace ; these summer skies 
No bluer ; and you never saw sunrise 
Look rosier ; this marble's not more white 
Though fine Carrara ; nor that swan more light 
Or easy swims yon grass-rimmed pool. — Loved 

her? 
Her beauty well, but not her ways, good sir. 
He harshly, brutally opposed her will. 
Which, being meek, submitted. She clung still 
Through years to simple innocence, a vine 
Climbing a humble porch. To her life's wine 
Was the free air, the beast and bird. She fed 
Her milk-white pony from her hand ; and led 
The brindle into pasture, and would call 
Her home at even. She cared, no, not at all 
For gold-fringed revels that at his command 
Her lord whirled through his hall. Yet she was 

gay 
And merry, doing good ; my head is gray 
Yet my old eyes have never seen a heart 
Long after humble joys as she, nor part 
With them as sad. Rather her lily hand 
Would bless the poor than clasp a mate to glide 
Through stately measures of the dance beside 
A gallant, sorting praises to her ear — 
Too pure to be defiled ! And many a year 
Would burdened age forget to hear her songs, 
Which seemed to melt to nothingness their 

wrongs. 
Much her lord knew not. But one summer's 

day 



Rivulets of Song 45 

He found her talking in her happy way 
To a sad tenant in the fragrant fields — 
Down in yon meadow where the wild-rose shields 
The violets beneath. He stormed and raged, 
And swore too deep ; and ever after caged 
The poor bird in these walls. The social whirl 
He forced her to pursue, imperious churl ! 
Loving each plant and every bird that flew, 
The golden monarch in his tent of blue, 
The fresh wind and the hue that westward dies. 
She saw no more of earthly Paradise. 
She drooped low, like a hapless rose that meets 
Too fierce a sun ; and all the luscious sweets 
Of life went sickening to her heart. She pined 
Upon her couch. Her lord grew still less kind 
And left her lonely till her reason turned 
Its balance hopelessly, and frenzy burned 
A pallor in her dawn-bright cheeks, and stole 
The soft light from her eyes ; they gan to roll 
Like coals of fire in hollow sockets ; then 
In strange, wild words she spoke ; again, again 
Talked of her brother— she had one who went 
Abroad when young; but now her madness lent 
Suspicion to her soul, named him a thief, 
And blamed his orphaned head for all her grief. 
Her face was valued then, she said, the door 
Of wealth swung open and the lovely poor 
Found preference. Often her mother's prayer 
She muttered, wished that she had perished there 
Under the old thatch roof with her, in flowers 
To lie beneath the yew-tree where bright hours 
Might float by on the merry breath of spring. 
"Then," said she, "I would be a happy, happy 
thing!" 



46 Rivulets of Song 

"But, O," she cried, *'my bread to ashes fell 

In my poor mouth!" And things more sad to 

tell 
She wildly said. 

One wintry day she died. 
His lordship gave her splendid burial, side 
By side with his ancestors. — Look you ! there 
He rides ; the lady with him is most fair, 
As proud and rich as he is, proud as she 
Whom you have sought was meek. A swift half- 
year 
Only has past since first we left her here. 
How are life's purposes much-tangled, crossed, 
And saved, or wrecked; and retribution tossed 
Into our teeth, at best a bitter dole ! 
Hence do I fear for him. — What ! the tears roll 
Down your pale cheeks. Why do you tremble, 

pray? 
What ails ? You were her erring brother ? Nay, 
Unloose your grief, then. You, the thief! You 

stole 
The gold and fled! Then may God save your 
soul! 



A LAMENT 

She seemed a thing time could not change, 
She was so fair, divinely made; 
But death swept wide his sickle's range, 
And she is resting in the shade ! 

Oh, feeble was the sense that thought 
Encroaching years defied in this — 



Rivulets of Song 47 

Her beauty, motion, grace are naught, 
And gone a dfeam of mortal bliss! 



IN MEMORY 

Upon the breast of earth he sleeps, 

Earth that he loved so well ; 
The moon a silent vigil keeps ; 

The sunbeams o'er him dwell; 
The stars are watchers when night steeps 

The world in magic spell. 
Thus e'er he seemed to draw in harmony 
Good will from man, heaven, earth, and sky, and 
sea. 

No curious eye, or pride, or hate, 

Or bitter trace of scorn, 
Or carping mood did e'er abate 

His mounting spirit born 
To soar above the common state, 

Of all things sordid shorn ; 
All petty, trifling practise laid aside; 
No false, inglorious reasoning applied. 

Modest he was, of spirit kind, 

As gentle as the dew ; 
His life as sweet as murmuring wind. 

Or bird that ever flew ; 
Placid, contented but to find 

The noble and the true: 
And love so graced his soul in every part. 
All loved him in return for his warm heart. 



48 Rivulets of Song 

IN ADVERSITY 

There was a time I thought my soul was strong, 

And like leviathan I turned aside 

The stream of circumstance — in fancy's world, 

Nothing could baffle me ; nor field, nor sea, 

Nor mountain height, nor plain had terrors; 

youth 
Had buoyant spirit and essayed the clouds 
And bathed its eyes in the bright zenith's sun. 
But now it is not so ; the purposes 
I cherished bud and bloom not ; all unripe 
They wither ; and my feet are turned to thread 
Paths that I would not, nor seek to explore. 
Yet some philosophy — perchance divine — 
Whispers that if the greatest good be won 
The soul must bend to the time's work and law. 



TO A FRIEND 

The beauty of thy countenance, the sweetness of 

thy face — 
Oh, who would think that they begin with death 

to run a race! 
Yet, as the canker eats the rose and blights its 

budding Hfe, 
So death has thrown the gauntlet down ; and 'tis 

a bitter strife. 

Fair, delicate, a form divine, a spirit dwelling- 
place, 

So calm that not a shade of pain is seen upon thy 
face, 



Rivulets of Song '49 

How fortitude has made thee brave and braced 

thy tender form, 
Not swaying Hke the wind-swept reed, or saphng 

in the storm ! 

Oh! surely somewhere in the realms of earth, if 

we could know, 
Nature would yield a remedy, so to avert the 

blow. . , 

For, though the happier halls of heaven might 

suit thy spirit best, 
Our hearts no parting dare to brook-^when thou 

are near, so blest! 

Long may thy graceful form be spared the keen 

and sweeping scythe, 
And to more joyous ways return the current ot 

thy life. 
And, if to lengthen out thy span, avail prayers, 

hopes and tears, 
Thou wilt through seasons gay and bhthe live 

yet a hundred years ! 

GLEAM, GLEAM, O SUN 

Gleam, gleam, O sun of cheerfulness and truth, 
In rose-endued and flower-bespangled morn ; 

Thy beam shall crown the open brows of youth 
And happy spirit and pure heart adorn. 

Gleam, gleam, O sun, in life's maturer years 
When through the clouds or pure unvapored 
skies 



50 Rivulets of Song 

Strong looks thy sober eye, and fallen tears 
To leaf and fruit transformed from earth arise. 

Gleam, gleam, O sun, when evening lets fall 
The shadows, sadly saying day is done ; 

Smile on old age and happily recall 

With comfort's balm the good already won. 



MISSING THE MARK 

An arrow tipped with poison missed its aim, 
And cleft its way into a giant oak. 
Years afterward a fledgling's fall it broke 
And saved it from a serpent's tongue of flame. 
So once a word sent a soul to annoy 
Failed, but long after brought another joy. 



TEN O'CLOCK 

'Tis ten o'clock and starry night; 
A strange and mystic moon gives light. 
The breeze is fresh, the sky is crossed 
By a few clouds a-wandering lost. 
These pale and gentle rays, endued 
With penetrating peace subdued. 
Are from the quiet zenith shed, 
Delightful to our cottage sped, 
Like the calm joy or pensive smile 
Experience wears so to beguile 
Your faith in its firm, stoic strength — 
Till you shall rest in it at length. 
The stars shine out, the trembling leaves 



Rivulets of Song 51 

In silver shine; no soft sound weaves 
Its spell in gulfs of shadow deep 
Where alleys green majestic sweep. 
Mysterious, secret, sober time, 
Approaching midnight's solemn chime, 
O night hours, hours of solitude 
And silence after day-noise rude, 
You bear a melancholy grace. 
You cheer and solemnize the place; 
Afar the tide of care you roll 
And sweetly sadden and console. 



. I STILL HAVE CHEER 

Although life's springtime like a dream 
Hath almost stolen quite away. 
Yet no bright sun's maturer beam 
Hath glorified my poet lay. 

I have a sympathy for tears, 

A sympathy for joy as well ; 

Would that I might through tuneful years 

For the world's good these feelings tell. 

And so I love the art of song 

Still must I at her altar bow ; 

And if I kneel devout and long — 

Who knows? Some skill may yet endow. 

Why some the charm of loftiest muse 
Have captured soon, possessing long 
I will not seek, nor murmuring use, 
But still take cheer and sing my song. 



52 Rivulets of Song 

TRANSLATIONS 

THE EXILE 
(Chateaubriand. ) 

How constant is my recollection sweet 

Of my fair birthplace, home of childhood's feet! 

My sister, how they lovely were, the days 

Of merry France! 
My country, ever be my love ; no praise 

Thy beauties may enhance! 

Do you recall how mother's gentle look 

Bent o'er our cottage hearth and how she took 

Each one and pressed us to her joyous breast, 

My sister dear? 
And then we kissed her white hair, unopprest — 

We two — by any fear. 

Do you recall the calm lake, verdure-rimmed, 
O'er which the nimble swallow lightly skimmed, 
The wind, whose breath the swaying reed would 
bow 

So easily, 
And the sun sleeping on the water low, 

So beautiful to see? 

Do you recall again, my sister dear. 

The castle which the Dore laved, running clear, 

And that most ancient tower of the Moor, 

Strong-built of yore. 
Where the bell rang when daylight would ap- 
pear ? — 

O that 'twould ring once more 1 



Rivulets of Song 53 

Do you recall that loving friend of mine. 
My life's companion, tender and divine? 
When plucking in the woods the pretty flower 

That blossomed gay, 
Helen would on my breast for the sweet hour 

Her heart to my heart lay. 

O who will give me back my Helen's smile, 
The tall, old oak, the mountain's lofty pile? 
Their fond remembrance wakes in me each day 

A bitter pain. — 
My native land shall be my love for aye, 

Although it be in vain! 



ECSTACY 

(Victor Hugo.) 

By the waves on a night full of stars I was lone: 
Not a sail on the sea, not a cloud in the sky. 
Further off than the real world my vision would 

fly. 
And the forests and mountains, all nature to me 
Seemed to question in one confused murmuring 

tone 
The fires of the sky and the waves of the sea. 

And the infinite legions of gold-glist'ning stars, 

In high voice, in low, thousand-toned their ac- 
cord. 

Made answer, inclining their coronal fires ; 

And the blue waves, which nothing can rule or 
arrest. 



54 Rivulets of Song 

Made answer in curling the foam of each crest: 
*'It is God, who is Lord : it is God, who is Lord." 



THE BROKEN VASE 

( SuLLY-PrUDHOM ME. ) 

The vase where this verbena died 
Was fractured by a fan's weak blow ; 
It must have scarcely touched the side. 
There was no sound the stroke to show. 

But though the bruise so slight had been. 
Eating the crystal fair each day, 
With a sad progress, sure, unseen, 
It slowly won its hapless way. 

The water, drop by drop, steals out ; 
The flower's sap soon, too, is spent; 
No one as yet holds it in doubt ; 
O do not touch ; the vase is rent ! 

Often the hand we love doth so. 
Touching the heart in secret, bruise ; 
Then the heart bursts itself and slow 
Death of its flower of love ensues. 

Still whole to the world's eyes 'twill keep. 
Yet feels increase and overmuch 
Its wound soft weep, minute and deep; 
The heart is broken ; do not touch ! 



Rivulets of Song 55 

THE LEAF 

(Arnault.) 

"Poor small leaf so sorely dried, 
Of thy sap fill stem denied, 
Where dost go?" — "I do not know. 
For the storm the mighty oak, 
That was all my stay, hath broke. 
With a wavering, wavering breath. 
Zephyr or the north wind saith 
Since that day what is my train 
From the forest to the plain. 
From the mountain to the dale. 
I go where the wild wind's flail 
Drives me ; without fear or moan 
Go where everything is blown; 
Where the petal of the rose 
And the leaf of laurel goes." 

LOVE THE FIELDS 

(Victor de Laprade.) 

After your sisters and your mother dear, 
Children of the submissive, tender heart, 
May nature be the dearest in your love ; 
The fields are of your friends the better part. 

The free air of the fields in bounty gives 
As if it were another mother's breast; 
It nourishes in power and wisdom's strength 
The happy child placed there by heaven and 
blest. 



56 Rivulets of Song 

It is the voice of the fair, rural world, 
The splendor of the grass and the blue lake, 
Which the child-soul the goodness of our God 
To know and ever cherish more doth make. 

Love then the waving woods, the sparkling fount, 
The clear, deep pool where green the rushes 

throng, 
The lovely flowers and the majestic oak, 
All peopled with the gladsome birds of song. 



THE MOUNTAIN BOY'S SONG 

(Uhland.) 

I am the mountain shepherd-boy; 
The castles all I see below. 
The sun first greets me here with joy, 
Here tarries longest, loathe to go. 
I am the mountain boy. 

The river's earliest home is here ; 
I drink it springing from the stone. 
It leaps the rock in wild career — 
I stop it with my hand alone. 
I am the mountain boy. 

The mountain, which is my estate. 
Here draws the raging storm around; 
It howls from north to south in hate. 
And so my happy song is drowned. 
I am the mountain boy. 



Rivulets of Song 57 

Thunder and lightning are below 
As in the blue I stand on high ; 
I know them and cry to them so : 
'My father's house in peace pass by; 
I am the mountain boy!' 

When once the war-bell roused the land, 
And beacons flamed the hills along, 
Then I climbed down and took my stand 
And swung my sword and sang my song: 
I am the mountain boy. 



Sam S. & Lee Shubert 

direct the following theatres and theatrical 
attractions in America : 



Hippodrome, Lyric, Casino, 
Dalys, Lew Fields, Herald 
Square and Princess Thea- 
tres, New York. 

Garrick Theatre, Chicago. 

Lyric Theatre, Philadelphia. 

Shubert Theatre, Brooklyn. 

Belasco Theatre, Washing- 
ton. 

Belasco Theatre, Pittsburg. 

Shubert Theatre, Newark. 

Shubert Theatre, Utica. 

Grand Opera House, Syra- 
cuse. 

Baker Theatre, Rochester. 

Opera House, Providence. 

Worcester Theatre, Worces- 
ter. 

Hyperion Theatre, New 
Haven. 

Lyceum Theatre, Buffalo. 

Colonial Theatre, Cleveland. 

Rand's Opera House, Troy. 

Garrick Theatre, St. Louis. 

Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
Norfolk, Va. 

Shubert Theatre, Columbus. 

Lyric, Cincinnati. 



Mary Anderson Theatre, 
Louisville. 

New Theatre, Richmond, 
Va. 

New Theatre, Lexington, Ky. 

New Theatre, Mobile. 

New Theatre, Atlanta. 

Shubert Theatre, Milwau- 
kee. 

Lyric Theatre, New Orleans. 

New Marlowe Theatre, 
Chattanooga. 

New Theatre, Detroit. 

Grand Opera House, Dav- 
enport, Iowa. 

New Theatre, Toronto." 

New Sothern Theatre, Den- 
ver. 

Sam S. Shubert Theatre, 
Kansas City. 

Majestic Theatre, Los An- 
geles. 

Belasco Theatre, Portland. 

Shubert Theatre, Seattle. 

Majestic Theatre, San Fran- 
cisco. 

E. H. Sothern & Julia Mar- 
lowe in repertoire. 



Margaret Anglin and Henry 
Miller. 

Virginia Harned. 

Mary Mannering in " Glori- 
ous Betsy." 

Mme. Alia Nazimova. 

Thos. W. Ross in *'The 
Other Girl." 

Cecelia Loftus. 

Clara Bloodgood. 

Blanche Ring. 

Alexander Carr. 

Digby Bell. 

" The Girl Behind the 
Counter." 

"The Light Eternal. » 

"The Snow Man." 

Blanche Bates in " The Girl 
from the Golden West." 

Darid Warfield in "The 
Music Master." 

" The Rose of the Rancho," 
with Rose Starr. 

Harrison Gray Fiskk's 

attractions. 
Mrs. Fiske in "The New 
York Idea." 



' Shore Acres.' 

Louis Mann in 
Hen." 



The White 



"The Road to Yesterday." 

Henry Woodruff in " Brown 
of Harvard." 

"The Secret Orchard," by 
Channing Pollock. 

De Wolf Hopper in " Hap- 
py land." 

Eddie Foy in " The Orchid." 

Marguerite Clark, in a new 
opera. 

"The Social Whirl," with 
Chas. J. Ross. , 

James T. Powers in " The 
Blue Moon." 

Bertha Kalich. 
"Leah Kleschna." 

"The Man on the Box." 

Cyril Scott in " The Prince 
Chap." 

" Mrs. Temple's Telegram." 

"The Three of Us," 



You cannot go wrong in selecting one of 
these play-houses for an evening's entertain- 
ment in whatever city you may happen to be. 



BOOKS YOV MI/ST READ 
SOONER OR LATER 



GREY DAWN REFLECTIONS 

By VIRGINIA BEALE LECKIE 

This clever Washington girl has come close to 
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If your grandfather made it in pigs you have a perfect 
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A married woman's troubled look at 3 A. M. is not so much 
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The majority of women lay the first misstep to Cupid ; some 
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Printed on grey antique paper. Cover in grey- 
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Frontis medallion portrait of author in red, sepia and 
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B^" What daintier holiday gift for your HIM of 
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BROADWAY PUBI.ISHING CO. 
835 BROADWAY, NEW YORK 



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Lost In the Mammoth Cave 

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BOOKS YOV MUST READ 
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The Instrument Tuned 

Bv Rosa B. HittI: 

Attractive Binding, 75 cents:. 

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Various Therapeutic Agents^ 

Influence of Mind. 

Extravagant Emotion^j 

Insomnia.^ 

Relaxation. 

Harmony the Law of Natw^ 



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A Tale of the Revolution 

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A NOVEL 

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New Book by the Author of 

A Girl and the Devil ! 



We beg to anxiounce for autumn a new novel from 
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The scene of Miss Edwards' new work is laid in 
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^lo Surrender. 

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BOOKS YOV MVST READ 
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Ldwdy Cervtury 

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4 Drawings by Hartman. 

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Broadway Publishing: GDmpany, 

835 Broadway, New York. 



BOOKS YOU MUST READ 
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Llevrellyn 

A NOVEL 

By Hadley S. Kimberling, 

Cloth. $1.50. 
5 Illustrations by S. Klarr; 

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Saltan of the Modern World 

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J2tno, cloth, handsomely produced. 

$1.50- 

The title of this book will arouse curiosity ," and its 
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A Missouriai\*s^Honor 

BV^wTw. Arnoldv 

(Cloth, i2mo. $i.oo.j 

5 Illustrations,. 



BOOKS YOV NVST READ 
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Told &« Twflight 

By Eva Browne. 

^A'delightful collection of stories and poemsl 

^Author's photo.) 

$i.oo. 



Job Trotter 

By Sylvester Field.) 
50c. 

A^ unique work, proving that the "earthly paradise" 
of the colored race is Africa. This book is decidedly, 
the bestwork that has yet appeared on the subject./ 



The Six\ of Ignorance 

By Henrietta Siegel,. 
$1.00. 

An exceedingly clever story, by a New York girl, who 
Ipicttires with a fearless hand the domestic misery result- 
iing^ from drink and dissipation. 

(4 special drawings.) 



JUN 8 1308 



r 



V- 



Hiiiiiii iiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii Mill iiiiiiiiii mil iiiiiiiii III! 

015 909 169 7 



